


I Spy (Something White)

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Child Abuse (Non Graphic), I don't think it's actually as sad as the tags make it sound, Implied Underage (Two Teenagers), M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, is there something you wanna do?” Hawkeye asked him, and Phil felt a momentary rush at being included in the blond’s self induced isolation. </p><p>“I dunno. Maybe we could play a game or something,” Phil said, feeling stupid as soon as the words left his mouth. He made it sound like they were bored kindergarteners, not high school students sitting in an abandoned house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Spy (Something White)

**Author's Note:**

> This plot bunny turned into a monster. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Bullying, child abuse (physical and neglect), violence (kind of graphic?), implied underage (two teenagers going at it), mentioned character death

Phil Coulson, seventeen years old and far too headstrong for his own good, looked up at the darkened house in front of him. The dilapidated shingles clung to the sorry remains of the structure, the glass panes of the windows were dirtied and shattered, and a large crack ran right through the middle of the old wooden door. He could see little bits of tattered curtains swirling around behind the broken glass and for a moment he thought he could see a light flickering in the attic. Phil’s heart pounded in his chest, beating like that of a scared rabbit, and, for what felt like the millionth time, he wondered why he was doing this. 

“Man up, Phil Coulson,” he muttered to himself as he started down the walkway to the, probably horribly creaky, door. “Cap wouldn’t be scared, would he?”

He tried to ignore the part of his mind that told him that one, Cap would have Bucky with him, and two, Cap probably wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. Cap surely would never have had to spend a night in a supposedly haunted house in order to get some stupid bullies to stop stealing his economics homework. 

(His teacher, Ms. Potts, always knew the work was his, of course, and gave him the credit, but lately his tormentors had decided to try destroying his work – by throwing his laptop out of a second storey window. Thankfully, he’d carefully backed up everything on a flash-drive, which they hadn’t found. He was still out of a laptop, though, and he had yet to figure out a way to tell his dad without making him completely flip out and do something embarrassing.)

But, anyway, here he was. Here he was in front of the scariest fucking building he’d ever seen with nothing but an old flashlight (which didn’t always work), a blanket (which still smelled faintly of his mom’s favorite perfume and lavender hand soap), and a turkey sandwich. 

Well, and that stupid video camera with which he was supposed to film himself as “proof” that he’d actually stayed overnight in the house. Phil really hoped he wouldn’t do anything embarrassing in his sleep. 

He gulped and placed his hand on the rusted doorknob. It took him a moment to actually open the door, as it was jammed pretty tightly shut, but eventually he managed. The door swung inwards, the effect of the creaky rusted hinges just as spooky as every horror movie Phil had seen in his short, seventeen year long life. However, despite his fear and apprehension, he carefully stepped foot in the old house. 

For a moment he contemplated whether he should close the door again behind him. Shuddering slightly, Phil decided that that was possibly the _worst_ idea he’d had so far. Shifting the weight of his backpack on his shoulder, the young man looked down the shadowed hallway and stepped further into the darkness. 

To his surprise, the longer he stayed in the abandoned house and the more of it he saw, the less terrified he became. The muted colors of the house and the soft rustle of the wind through the leaves outside the windows were almost calming in some respects. Then again, maybe he was just trying to trick himself into actually believing that so that he wouldn’t chicken out before sunrise. 

Phil sighed at that thought, mad at himself for having to resort to such measures. A scrawny kid with a handful of boxing lessons under his belt was no match for five hockey players who were all at least 5’11”. The last time he’d really tried to drag out a fight ended with his wrist in a cast for six weeks. (Although Cain Marko’s nose had made a rather satisfying crunch when he’d broken it with a well aimed punch.)

The first stair of the main staircase creaked loudly as Phil stepped onto it, causing him to wince at the volume. He idly hoped that none of the neighbors had heard it, even though the nearest inhabited house was almost a block away. Phil tried to ascend the rest of the stairs with more grace and quiet, but due to the deterioration of the wood he was largely unsuccessful. 

Upon reaching the top of the staircase, he entered the first room, his hand turning the dusty glass doorknob as he hoped that he wouldn’t find any surprises inside. Thankfully, as he poked his head into the room, all he found was a rickety armchair in the farthest corner and a set of moth eaten curtains covering the only window. 

He surveyed the room for a moment longer, eyes dragging slowly across the dusty wooden floorboards and the faded Victorian wallpaper. Finally he stepped fully into the room, carefully testing the quality of the wood floor before sliding his backpack off his shoulder. He left it there by the door and walked over to the old armchair. Phil ran his hand across the moth eaten fabric stretched across the chair’s frame and after it didn’t immediately crumble under his fingertips, he turned around and sat in it tentatively, a little worried that it would collapse as soon as he tried to put his weight on it. The chair, however, held. 

“Well, it looks like I know where I’m sleeping tonight,” Phil muttered to himself, relaxing back into the armchair and staring up at the cracked ceiling. 

\---

Phil awoke to the sound of a loud crack. His eyes snapped open and he stiffened immediately, his spine rigid as he fumbled for his flashlight. Through the darkness, he could make out the fact that the door to the room – which he had closed earlier – was now ajar and that something was standing in the doorframe, but without extra lighting that was about all he could tell. 

Finally, Phil managed to find the old red flashlight and clicked the large button on the side, turning it on. A rather pathetic beam of light meandered through the darkness, only barely illuminating the figure in the doorway. Phil jumped as he realized that it was a person – probably male – although he was unable to fully make out their features. 

“Who the fuck are you?” the other person blurted out, sounding more surprised and unsettled than angry, much of Phil’s relief. 

“Well, who the fuck are you?” Phil shot back before he’d really thought through his answer. 

The other person stepped further into the room, allowing the light to fully illuminate the scowl on their face. Phil was momentarily taken aback by how young the other was, carefully looking over his short cropped, dirty blond hair, worn jeans, slightly too small t-shirt, and scuffed tennis shoes. He couldn’t have been much older than Phil himself. 

“Hawkeye. You’re in my chair,” the other teen – “Hawkeye,” apparently – replied, still scowling fiercely. 

Phil had to bite back the childish retort of “Well, I don’t see your name on it.” If there was one thing his mother had taught him, it was that you should always be polite to someone, no matter how much of a goddamn motherfucking asshole they were (his mother’s words exactly). 

“Sorry, I didn’t know,” Phil said carefully, but he didn’t move from the chair. “Aren’t there any other chairs you can use?”

“The rest are all broken or have animals nesting in them,” Hawkeye answered stubbornly, still standing just inside the room. 

“Oh. Well. We could… share?” Phil replied dubiously, glancing down at the chair he was curled up in and wondering if it was even physically possible to fit two people over the age of eight on it. 

Hawkeye shot him an equally unimpressed look. 

“Or I could – ” Phil started again, only to be cut off by the other boy. 

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’ll just – ” Hawkeye hugged his arms to his chest and looked around the room. “I’ll just… stay here.”

“Okay,” Phil answered, still not taking his eyes off of the blond haired teen and not turning his flashlight off.

They stayed like that for a while longer, just staring at each other in the dim light of the fading flashlight bulb, neither moving apart from the rise and fall of their chests with their even breathing. Phil tried not to focus on the way the other boy’s eyes looked slightly unearthly in the shadows, lit only by the glow of the flashlight and the smallest shaft of moonlight through a tear in the curtains covering the only window. 

Finally, Hawkeye glanced away, eyes travelling over the floor before moving over to the corner of the room opposite Phil and the armchair. He snuck one more look at Phil before shuffling tentatively over to the corner, pressing his back against the dusty wallpaper and sliding down to crouch there, mostly in shadow, although Phil’s flashlight was still trained on him.

“How old are you?” Phil asked suddenly, unsure what exactly had compelled him to voice the question he’d already briefly contemplated.

“You haven’t even told me your name and you want me to tell you my age?” Hawkeye replied incredulously, giving Phil an odd look. 

“Just a question,” Phil shrugged, trying to act casually although his cheeks were burning bright red. “And I’m pretty sure Hawkeye’s not your real name, so…”

“I’m Hawkeye,” the other teen (probably a teen?) answered stubbornly. “And I’m probably older than you anyway.”

“Well I’m seventeen,” Phil replied before even really thinking about it.

“Hi Seventeen, I’m Hawkeye,” the sandy haired kid shot back, his tone deadpan.

“You sound like my dad,” Phil said, wrinkling his nose and making an expression of distaste. 

At that, Hawkeye fell silent, looking away from Phil and back at the floor, his head lowered in such a way that his face was completely in shadow. Phil frowned, wondering what it was he’d said to elicit such a response. They lapsed into silence again, and after a few moments, Phil looked away, feeling awkward about staring at a strange boy whose real name he didn’t even know. 

“Why are you here, anyway?” Hawkeye said, catching Phil off guard, causing him to look over at the other teen again. 

“I…” Phil started, worrying his lower lip between his teeth for a moment and trying to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t sound completely lame. “A friend bet me fifteen bucks that I couldn’t stay here the whole night without getting freaked out and leaving. I figured that it was basically free money, so…”

Phil shrugged again, gesturing to his current location in the old armchair inside the abandoned house. He looked back over at Clint who had a sort of “oh” expression adorning his face, but who largely looked unsurprised. 

“What about you?” Phil asked, trying to shift the conversation away from him and his less than desirable situation (not that Hawkeye knew any of the actual details). 

“Just needed to get away for a while,” Hawkeye replied, although the casualness in his answer sounded just a touch forced. Not that it was any of Phil’s business.

“You needed to get away at – ” Phil checked his glow in the dark watch. “ – one thirty in the morning?” 

“So what?” the other teen retorted, his voice sharp and his eyes narrowed in challenge. 

“Nothing. It’s just kind of a weird time to go out,” Phil said, hoping that he hadn’t annoyed Hawkeye too much. “Then again, I’ve heard of stranger things.” 

“Whatever,” Hawkeye muttered, looking away from Phil, back down at the floor. “Look, can you just turn off that light now? I wanna get some sleep before sunrise.” 

He pulled his knees closer to his chest, wedging his back into the corner and making himself smaller than Phil had thought was physically possible, even though the other boy wasn’t terribly large. Phil hesitated for a moment, still watching Hawkeye blankly as the flashlight flickered to an even dimmer lighting level. 

“Yo, Earth to Seventeen! Did you hear me?” Hawkeye said, voice louder this time, the bizarre nickname echoing oddly through Phil’s ears. “I promise I’m not some sort of crazy ax murderer who’s going to chop you up into little pieces in the middle of the night.” 

“It hadn’t even crossed my mind,” Phil replied dryly (although the thought had actually occurred to him). 

He turned off the flashlight. 

Less than a minute later, he turned it back on. 

“What the fuck, Sev – ” Hawkeye started, only to cut himself off as he registered something flying towards him. 

The blanket that Phil had thrown at the blond hit him squarely in the face with a light “whap” sound, and Phil was torn between apologizing profusely and laughing. Well, Hawkeye probably wouldn’t appreciate the laughter very much. Probably. 

“What the fu – ” the other boy sputtered again, fumbling with the blanket he was now entangled in. 

“You already asked me that,” Phil cut him off, trying for his best deadpan tone. “And it’s a blanket.” 

“Yeah, I get that, I just don’t – ” Hawkeye started, only for Phil to interrupt him yet again. 

“I stole your chair,” he offered as a sort of explanation, shrugging. “And you looked pretty uncomfortable. You can borrow it for tonight.”

“Oh,” Hawkeye replied, clutching the blanket a little tighter. “Uh. Thanks, I guess. For, you know, not being a complete asshole.” 

Phil rolled his eyes and turned off the flashlight for the final time that night. 

\---

The next time Phil Coulson awoke it was to the loud beeping of his watch alarm. He blearily fumbled with the buttons on it, mentally cursing the fact that they were so tiny. The sun wasn’t up yet – it was still too early for that – and so Phil reached down next to the armchair and picked his old red flashlight up off the floor. He turned it on, hoping that he didn’t accidentally wake up Hawkeye in the process, only to find the blanket he’d loaned the other teen neatly folded and lying on the floor in front of him. Hawkeye was nowhere in sight, although when Phil picked up the blanket he could still feel a hint of warmth. 

He shook his head to clear it and shoved the blanket roughly into his backpack, trying to shove his memories of the strange boy out of his mind. It wasn’t like he was ever going to see the guy again. Well, probably not, anyway. 

Letting out a groan as he shifted his shoulders, trying to stretch out his back, the young man stood up. He bent down to check through his bag one more time, making sure everything was there, even though he really hadn’t brought much to begin with. Once he’d assured himself that everything was there, he straightened up again and surveyed the room one more time. Satisfied, Phil turned and left. 

The grass of the yard in front of the house was wet with dew, causing Phil to wrinkle his nose in annoyance as the water soaked into his tennis shoes as he trudged over to the dry pavement of the sidewalk. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and Phil let out a small huff before turning away from the dilapidated building and walking in the direction of his house. It was only a few blocks away – he should still have time to shower before heading over to school. 

He tried to put the whole endeavor out of his mind. This was hopefully the beginning of a new chapter in his life, after all. Life was going to start looking up now. Phil had made a promise to himself even before he’d set foot in that creepy house that even if those stupid bullies didn’t hold up their end of the deal and leave him alone from now on, he’d find a way to make them. Well, making them stop was probably easier in his head than it would be in real life, but he’d had enough of cowering. Cap never gave up no matter how much the odds were stacked against him, and it was about time Phil started doing the same. 

By the time Phil reached school, he was almost in a good mood. Of course, a hint of anxiety over his next confrontation with Marko and his gang still lingered in the back of his mind. The more he dwelled on it, the more he began to doubt whether Marko would actually keep his word about their arrangement. 

Amazingly, though, Phil made it to English class without incident. The only class he and Marko actually shared was Econ, so Phil let himself hope that he wouldn’t have to see Marko for another few periods at least. 

“Hey,” a voice said, breaking Phil from his thoughts. 

“Hey,” Phil echoed automatically, glancing over to see Maria sliding into the seat next to him. 

“You look tired,” Maria continued casually, her mouth turned down into a frown ever so slightly. “Rough night?”

That was Maria’s way of saying that he looked like hell warmed over. Great. 

“I have a German test today,” Phil replied, trying to convince himself that by not directly addressing her question he wasn’t technically lying. 

A subtle hint of disbelief flickered over Maria’s face, but she didn’t otherwise comment, merely nodding as if in understanding. Phil looked away. He wasn’t sure if he was glad or disappointed that she hadn’t pressed for more information. He appreciated that she didn’t pry, but he wasn’t sure if her lack of persistence was due to her consideration of his feelings or her lack of interest in him as a friend. Were they even friends for that matter?

Ms. Carter called for the class’ attention and Phil shoved those dark thoughts from his mind, resolving to recapture the streak of optimism he’d grasped earlier that morning. 

Phil floated through English class in a dethatched haze. He struggled to pay attention when normally he had no problem – Ms. Carter was a good teacher, even if Phil sometimes got annoyed when she corrected him on certain grammar aspects where his American English clashed with her own British dialect. However, by the time class was over Phil felt like he hadn’t absorbed even the tiniest bit of their discussion of _Macbeth_. 

He was already halfway through slinging his backpack over his shoulder when the bell rang and he pretended not to hear Maria start to say something to him as he stood up. He felt a little guilty, but he was already halfway out the door and it would be even more awkward if he tried to go back now, wouldn’t it? 

As he rounded the corner of the hallway, however, he froze in his tracks. Cain Marko was leaning directly on his locker. There was a false casualness to his posture, his shoulders slumped and a sloppy, lopsided smirk twisting his lips as he nodded at some of the people who glanced at him as they walked by. 

Phil sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders, his spine rigid and almost militaristic. He strode past Marko, not even bothering to look at him out of the corner of his eye, and shoved the video camera into the other teen’s chest. Marko, surprised, grasped it on reflex, fumbling with it for a moment, and for a split second Phil was afraid he’d drop it and all of the evidence of his brave endeavors would be lost. 

But even then, Phil kept on walking. 

“Coulson!” Marko shouted after him, pushing himself off the lockers and starting after Phil. 

Phil just sped up, though. As he rounded the corner of the hallway, he had to stop himself from sighing in relief as the door of his physics classroom came into view. He just had to make it into that room and then he’d be safe. Not that he wasn’t perfectly capable of defending himself from Marko, of course. 

However, when he was less than five feet away from the classroom entrance, a large, meaty hand grasped the collar of his t-shirt, pulling tight across his throat. 

Phil reacted on instinct, jerking around and swinging a fist directly into his attacker’s face. He wasn’t surprised as Cain Marko stumbled backwards with a howl of pain, clutching at his nose, and, in a rare streak of viciousness, Phil hoped he’d broken it again. Marko’s face didn’t really need to be any uglier than it already was, but Phil decided that if he was going to smash anything, it might as well be the bully’s face. 

Caught up in his violent thoughts, the seventeen year old nearly missed Marko’s own fist coming towards him. He dodged just in time, the other’s fist just barely grazing his cheek as he fell back into what he remembered of a proper boxer’s stance. He lashed out with his left fist this time, taking Marko off guard and landing another hit, although it wasn't as solid as the first one. 

Marko grunted before his face twisted into a truly horrible expression. A moment later, Phil found himself falling backwards as the other teen tackled him. They hit the ground with an audible thud, although Phil dazedly supposed that a thud was better than a crack. He gasped for breath, the air having completely left his lungs upon impact, but only managed to take in a tiny breath due to Marko’s not inconsiderable weight resting on his chest. 

Phil’s heart stuttered in his chest, his eyes widening as Marko straightened himself out. He straddled Phil’s chest and pulled an arm back, preparing to fully beat in the other’s face, now that he could no longer escape. Phil squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the onslaught. 

It never came. 

“ _What_ is going on here?” a startled voice exclaimed. 

Phil blinked his eyes open to find Dr. Banner, his physics teacher, holding Marko back. For one dazed moment, Phil wondered if he was dreaming. Marko tried to fight against the teacher’s grip for a minute before realizing that he wasn’t going to break free from Banner’s surprisingly strong grasp, falling limp and slumping back into an awkward posture, blood from his crooked nose streaming down his face and dripping down his chin. 

Air flooded Phil’s lungs again and he tried to steady his breathing, his mind racing through every possible excuse he could think of. He awkwardly pushed himself into a sitting position, freezing as he laid eyes on the crowd that had gathered, all of them gawking at him with horrified and fascinated expressions. His thought process stuttered to a stop as he realized that, for once, he was actually the one who’d started the fight.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Marko exclaimed, turning to Dr. Banner, his face flushed bright red. “He just attacked me! Look at what the fucker did to my nose!”

“I’m taking both of you to Principal Johnson,” Banner sighed, releasing Marko’s arm and nudging him in the direction of the principal’s office. 

The cold look Dr. Banner shot Phil clearly indicated that he expected him to come along without protest. 

“But I didn’t – ” Marko tried again, only for the physics teacher to cut him off.

“Take it up with Principal Johnson,” was his only reply. 

Pushing himself to his feet, Phil trailed after them, his cheeks burning bright red as the crowd parted in front of them. He heard hints of whispered conversations, but could never decipher more than a word, because people always shut their mouths when he got close to them. He spotted Maria in the mass of students and their eyes met for a split second, but he broke eye contact immediately, his face burning with shame. He couldn’t banish the memory of her cold, blank look from his mind. 

Dr. Banner knocked on Principal Johnson’s office door as soon as they found themselves standing in front of it, and Phil almost laughed at how surreal it felt, the hysteria building inside him. 

“Come in,” Johnson’s voice commanded. 

Banner opened the door and motioned the two boys inside, putting them between him and Principal Johnson, then following behind them. Johnson looked up at the three of them, raising one eyebrow at the state of Cain’s face before pushing a box of tissues towards him and steepling her fingers, planting her elbows on her desk.

“What happened here?” she asked, her voice calm, but with underlying steel in her tone. 

Phil swallowed, his throat uncommonly dry. He’d always secretly been a little terrified of Principal Daisy Johnson. His normal defense mechanism was to be as pleasant and unobtrusive as possible, but it didn’t seem like that was going to work here. 

“These two were fighting,” Dr. Banner sighed when neither Marko nor Phil answered, “which, while not unexpected of Mr. Marko, is more than a little strange for Mr. Coulson.” 

“Yes, you’ve been in my office on more than one occasion, haven’t you, Mr. Marko?” Principal Johnson replied idly, glancing at the boy with the bloody nose. “Care to defend yourselves, either of you?”

“He started it,” Marko blurted, crossing his arms over his chest defensively and glancing down at the tissue box on Johnson’s desk but stubbornly refusing to take one. “He punched me for no reason at all.” 

“Is this true, Mr. Coulson?” Johnson asked, looking over at Phil now, who tried to meet her gaze, but looked away after only a few moments. 

“Well, kind of,” Phil muttered, crossing his arms over his chest before unfolding them again, not wanting to mirror Marko’s own posture. “He came up behind me and grabbed by shirt collar first, though. I acted on instinct.”

“And your instinct is to punch people, Mr. Coulson?” Principal Johnson questioned, sounding largely unimpressed with his answer. 

“No – well, yes – kind of?” Phil replied, wincing at the awkwardness of his speech. “It felt like he was trying to choke me.”

“And why did you grab his shirt collar, Mr. Marko?” Johnson continued, turning to Marko this time. 

“Uh, well, I kept trying to talk to him but he kept ignoring me and he wouldn’t reply, and I wasn’t trying to hurt him or anything, I swear,” Marko babbled, arms still folded over his chest. 

“Mr. Marko was on top of Mr. Coulson and preparing to punch him when I found them,” Dr. Banner added, and Phil mentally thanked him, even though that concession wasn’t likely to save him from much punishment. 

“Thank you, Bruce, but I think I’ll take it from here,” Principal Johnson sighed, motioning for the physics teacher to leave. 

Banner frowned slightly, but nodded. He turned and left the room without another word, and Phil’s chest tightened at the sound of the office door clicking shut behind them. 

“From where I stand, you’re both equally guilty,” Johnson started, her gaze cold and unwavering as she surveyed the two boys. “You’re both suspended for the remainder of today and for the next three school days. I’m also assigning you both a week of detention, which you can do either before school from six to eight or after school from three to five. I’ll be notifying your parents accordingly, and I’ll have a more extensive meeting with them. You’re both dismissed.” 

Marko looked like he wanted to snap something nasty at her, but refrained, merely turning his back to her and leaving the office. He closed the door behind him with more force than was probably necessary and Phil winced slightly at the loud bang it produced. He made no move to leave, however.

“Um. Ms. Johnson?” he started tentatively, wanting to shrink and disappear as soon as he’d captured her full attention. 

“Yes, Mr. Coulson?” she asked simply. “You’re going to have to come up with a very good reason for me to consider changing my verdict.” 

“It’s not that,” Phil said quickly. “It’s just that my dad is in New York on a business trip.” 

“Well, when will he be back?” Johnson inquired calmly, looking unperturbed by the inconvenience.

“In five months,” Phil muttered, looking down at the ground and scuffing his toe against the floor. 

Daisy Johnson’s eyes narrowed minutely and her lips thinned slightly as she pressed them together in a tighter frown. 

“And you’re living by yourself for the time being?” she asked, her tone not reflecting her slight change in expression. 

Phil nodded, still staring at the floor.

“Is there any other guardian I can speak with?” the principal questioned, after a moment of contemplation. 

“Uh, well, she’s not really my guardian,” Phil started, his voice faltering slightly as he fidgeted, stumbling over his words, “but Ms. Potts lives a couple houses down from me and checks in on me sometimes. To make sure I haven’t burned down the house or something. She was a friend of my mom's before… well…” 

“Virginia Potts, the economics teacher?” Johnson asked, sounding surprised.

Phil nodded again, gaining just enough courage to glance up at her for a moment. 

“I suppose I can talk with her then,” Principal Johnson sighed, straightening herself slightly and shuffling around some papers on her desk, picking up a pen and jotting down something Phil couldn’t decipher on a lime green post-it note. “I still need to speak with your father, though. Is his cell phone number in your student file?” 

“Yeah,” Phil mumbled. “Can I go now?”

“You may,” she replied, not looking up from her notes. “Please close the door on your way out.”

Phil nodded, although he wasn’t sure if she could see it. With that, he exited the office, very careful to close the door with more care than Marko had closed it with earlier. The teenager let out a frustrated growl as he walked through the empty hallway, and he had to resist the urge to punch one of the lockers. He’d already gotten himself into enough trouble by punching things for one day. He’d never gotten suspended before! In fact, he’d never even gotten a detention. 

Upon exiting the school building, Phil stood there for a moment, unsure what to make of his newfound suspension. He stood outside in the sunshine for a while before randomly picking a direction and walking in it. 

\---

Phil Coulson stood in front of the abandoned house he’d spent the previous night in and wondered how the hell he’d ended up there again. He’d originally just picked a random direction and started walking, turning every once in a while without any particular destination in mind. Well, no conscious destination, at least. Apparently his subconscious begged to differ. 

In the light, the house didn’t look very scary. Actually, it looked more sad than anything, run down and abandoned. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere, but Phil had a very particular hatred for metaphors. He stood there a moment longer before slowly starting to walk up the overgrown path to the old wooden door, the crack splitting it down the middle still as prominent as it was the previous night, despite the daylight illuminating it. 

The stairs of the porch creaked just as loudly as they had before, and the door was just as hard to force open as it had been, and for a moment it felt like that day had never happened. It felt like he’d never gone to school and he’d never punched Cain Marko in the face and he’d never gotten suspended. Phil idly wished that that was true.

Acting purely on instinct and some bizarre remnant of muscle memory, Phil ascended the creaky staircase in the front hallway, his hand sliding over the splintered banister as he made his way to the room that he’d spent the previous night in. He paused in front of that door – the first door at the top of the staircase – and contemplated how his life had changed. He decided that it really hadn’t and went inside. 

He stopped short as he came face to face with a sandy haired boy with wide, blue-gray eyes that Phil felt like he’d never really encountered before, even though he knew he’d seen them before. 

“You again?” the other boy blurted, breaking Phil out of his daze.

“Hawkeye,” he said, grasping for anything else to say and feeling like the world’s biggest idiot.

He probably was.

“Yeah, and you’re that kid from last night,” Hawkeye shot back, his mouth turning down in a familiar scowl. “Seventeen.” 

“Stop calling me that,” Phil replied, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. 

“Then tell me your real name,” Hawkeye countered, also crossing his arms, mirroring Phil’s stance. 

“What are you doing here anyway?” Phil asked, deflecting the blond teen’s line of questioning. 

“What are _you_ doing here anyway?” Hawkeye parroted, the edges of his lips turning up slightly in a small smirk. 

“Got suspended for fighting,” Phil replied casually, as if it was something he did every Friday.

Which, for all Hawkeye knew, was probably true. The sandy haired boy whistled low in his throat, sounding a touch impressed, despite his earlier attitude. He gave Phil a slow once over which made Phil have to suppress a shiver, his pulse pounding in his ears. 

“And here I thought you were just some wimpy honors students,” Hawkeye said, grinning widely. “Is that where the bruise came from?”

Phil instinctively reached a hand up to his cheek, wincing slightly as he registered just how tender it felt. He hadn’t remembered Marko landing any solid hits, besides when he’d tackled Phil to the floor. 

“Yeah,” Phil replied, shrugging and trying to pretend that he wasn’t still slightly dazed at the way his life had been flipped on its head. “So why are you here?”

“Didn’t feel like going to school,” Hawkeye answered, mirroring Phil’s shrug. “No one ever comes here so it’s a nice hangout.” 

Phil nodded idly and looked back into the room. Hawkeye stepped to one side of the doorway and Phil walked into the room, looking around for the first time in daylight. The moth eaten curtains that had covered the room’s only window the previous night had been drawn back so sunlight flooded the room, lending it a surprisingly comfortable atmosphere. The wallpaper was just as faded as he remembered it, but he was almost able to make out some sense of color in it now. The old armchair stood in the far corner of the room just as it had the previous night, and the space looked largely undisturbed. 

“So what are you doing? Just sitting here?” Phil asked, turning back to Hawkeye. 

“Kinda. So what?” the other teenager replied, a touch defensive. 

“It just seems a little boring, you know,” Phil answered, frowning and looking around the room again. 

“Well, is there something you wanna do?” Hawkeye asked him, and Phil felt a momentary rush at being included in the blond’s self induced isolation. 

“I dunno. Maybe we could play a game or something,” Phil said, feeling stupid as soon as the words left his mouth. He made it sound like they were bored kindergarteners, not high school students standing around in an abandoned house. 

“A game?” Hawkeye repeated, sounding apprehensive. 

“Yeah, but not just a game,” Phil continued, an idea developing in his mind. “Well, the game doesn’t really matter, but when I win, you have to answer any question I ask you – truthfully – and vice versa.”

Hawkeye frowned, contemplating the question carefully. Phil watched his expression, taking in the way his brow furrowed in contemplation, the way his eyes seemed out of focus, a million miles away. Phil’s heart thudded in his chest for reasons he could – or, rather, didn’t want to – decipher. 

“Okay,” the other boy said slowly. “But I get to choose the game.” 

“Sure,” Phil replied, glad that Hawkeye had even agreed at all. “What do you want to do then?”

“I Spy,” he answered, his mouth turning up in a smirk that made Phil almost regret agreeing to the game, some sort of secret mirth dancing behind the other’s eyes. “But you only get five guesses.” 

“You start,” Phil said, sitting down on the floor and leaning his back against the wall, Hawkeye sliding down the wall next to him.

“Okay. I spy…” Hawkeye started, narrowing his eyes and carefully scanning their surroundings. “I spy something white.” 

“Me?” Phil retorted dryly before he even processed what he was saying, blushing immediately after the words left his mouth. 

“No, but nice guess,” the other replied, laughing, his sides shaking with mirth. “You have four more tries.” 

“Uh…” Phil squinted, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. “The clouds?”

“Nope,” Hawkeye replied merrily, sounding pleased with himself. “Three more, Seventeen.” 

“The ceiling,” Phil said after a moment, looking up at the peeling paint.

“Wrong again, my friend,” Hawkeye answered, his grin growing impossibly wider. “Two guesses.” 

“Your shoelaces,” Phil replied, more quickly this time, looking over at Hawkeye’s dirty laces.

“Sorry, but you are wrong,” the blond haired boy announced, punctuating the last three words gleefully. “Come on, it’s not that hard.”

“Can you give me a hint, at least?” Phil asked, looking at Hawkeye imploringly. 

“You’re giving up already?” Hawkeye teased, although it was less biting than his other commentary. “It’s inside the room, on the other side, okay?”

“Okay,” Phil replied, nodding and surveying the opposite side of the room carefully. “Maybe…”

Next to him, Hawkeye started humming the Jeopardy theme obnoxiously. Phil glared at him, which, really, he should have known not to do. It made Hawkeye start humming louder. 

“The windowsill,” Phil said finally, his voice sounding much more confident than he actually felt. “It’s the paint on the windowsill.” 

“You are…” Hawkeye began, pausing for dramatic effect, “wrong!”

“Then what could it possibly be?” Phil exclaimed, frowning in annoyance and frustration. “There’s _nothing else there!_ ” 

“It was the paint chip in the left corner. Probably fell off the ceiling,” Hawkeye shrugged, waving his hand in the general direction.

Phil narrowed his eyes, squinting at the area that the blond was pointing at. He frowned. 

“There’s nothing there,” he said assuredly, glaring at the other boy. 

“Yeah there is,” Hawkeye replied, sounding affronted by Phil’s disbelief. “Here.”

He stood up, grasping Phil’s wrist and pulling him to his feet, dragging him over to the corner. Once he got to the area that he had been motioning towards earlier, he crouched down and pointed at a very specific spot where a very, very small piece of white paint covered plaster lay. Phil blinked. He could barely see it from three feet away.

“There’s no way you saw that from the other side of the room,” he retorted, caught between shock and annoyance.

“What? No! I totally could see it!” Hawkeye protested, pouting slightly in a way that may or may not have made Phil’s eyes linger on his lips for a second too long. 

“Your eyesight would have to be – it would have to be just _amazing_ for you to be able to make out that tiny little speck!” Phil argued, pulling his wrist out of the other teen’s grasp as he realized that Hawkeye was still holding on. 

“Hey, I’m not called Hawkeye for nothing,” the boy said, a lopsided grin spreading over his face as he looked at Phil with what was probably his best puppy dog expression.

It was pretty damn good. Devastatingly so. 

“Fine, then what does that sign say?” Phil asked, pointing out the window at the handwritten sign on the telephone pole two blocks away. 

“Uh,” Hawkeye frowned again, squinting slightly as he followed the direction that Phil was pointing. “Missing, there’s a picture of a dog, his name is Lucky – how lucky is a dog that runs away, seriously – if found return to 1249 Elm Street, he likes pizza, yada yada…” 

Phil stared at him. Fuck. Even if Hawkeye had seen the sign in passing, there was no way he’d have actually memorized the address that the dog was supposed to be returned to. In fact, the only reason Phil himself knew the details of the sign was because he’d helped put them up for his kid neighbor, Kate. (Well, technically she was a eighth grader and hated it when he called her a kid, but she was kind of like having a little sister, in a way.)

“You set this up, didn’t you?” Phil accused, scowling at the other teenager. 

“Hey, you were the one who suggested we play a game,” Hawkeye said, again trying to look as innocent as possible. “You just made the mistake of letting me choose the game. Now, let me think of a question…” 

Hawkeye flashed him a mischievous smirk. Phil gulped nervously.

“Oh, come on,” the blond complained, frowning at Phil’s anxious expression. “Fine. I’ll go easy on you. What’s your name?” 

“Phil,” Phil replied, mentally sighing in relief. 

“Phil…” Hawkeye echoed, the way his name rolled off the blond’s tongue doing strange things to Phil’s heart rate. “I think I prefer Seventeen. Phil’s kind of a lame name.”

“Hey!” the owner of the name in question protested, frowning at Hawkeye, which really only made him look more pleased with himself. 

“Aw, don’t worry – my name’s lame, too,” Hawkeye replied, patting Phil on the shoulder. “That’s why everyone calls me Hawkeye.”

“What _is_ your actual name?” Phil asked, trying to keep his tone casual, despite his building curiosity.

“If you win a game of I Spy, I’ll tell you,” Hawkeye said, and winked. 

At that moment, Phil Coulson decided that – just once – he needed to beat Hawkeye at his own game, if only just to know the answer to that one question.

\---

Phil came back to the old house the next day. And the next. And the next. In fact, he practically spent his entire weekend there, most of the time with Hawkeye, sometimes waiting for Hawkeye. In fact, soon enough his suspension was up and Phil was almost hesitant to go back to school. Not because he’d have to see Marko – oh no, he figured that the stupid bully would think twice about coming after him again – but because being in school meant that he wouldn’t be with Hawkeye. 

There was no rhyme or reason to when Hawkeye would show up at the house. Sometimes he’d be there hours before Phil arrived, having either gotten there very early in the morning or having slept overnight in the house. Sometimes he’d saunter in in the middle of the day, complaining about all of the afternoon classes he didn’t want to go to. Other times Phil wouldn’t see him until late in the evening, and occasionally – rarely – Phil wouldn’t see him at all. 

(Often enough on those days when Hawkeye didn’t appear, he’d show up the next morning extremely early with poorly hidden bruises that made Phil’s stomach twist itself into uncomfortable knots. The one time he’d tried asking about them was the one time Hawkeye had left without an excuse and without saying goodbye. Phil didn’t ask again.)

Phil Coulson was not one to play hooky, though. Once his suspension was over, he went back to school like he knew, logically, he should. But more than once, he found himself zoning out in classes, wondering what Hawkeye was doing at that moment and contemplating whether it was possible to play I Spy by yourself. 

(One day while walking through the library, Phil stumbled across one of those I Spy books in the kids' section, the ones where you’re supposed to find everything hidden in the photographs. On impulse, he checked it out, telling himself that he’d borrowed it because he wanted to see how quickly Hawkeye could complete it, not because he felt guilty about not being there for him. And if the wide smile Hawkeye had given him in thanks had made his heart skip a beat, well, no one else had to know that.)

Back at school, Maria seemed even more distant than before, and Phil asked himself, yet again, what he’d done wrong. He couldn’t help but remember the blank, cold expression she’d worn as she’d watched him get dragged off to the principal’s office more than two weeks ago. Once again he wondered if they’d ever been friends at all. 

\---

“Are you a virgin?”

Phil gaped at Hawkeye. Like always, the blond had won their latest round of I Spy, and, like always, he got to ask Phil a question and Phil had to answer truthfully. This just… wasn’t the sort of question he was used to.

“Is that a yes?” Hawkeye snickered. 

“Wha – why are you asking me _that_?” Phil sputtered, his cheeks heating up and probably bright, bright red. 

“Aw, come on. Just answer the question,” the blond whined, pouting at Phil. 

“Can’t I answer a different question?” Phil complained, hoping that Hawkeye would just drop the subject already. 

“Seventeen’s a virgin! Seventeen’s a virgin!” Hawkeye sing-songed, laughing loudly as Phil turned redder and redder.

“Shut up!” Phil growled, his face on fire now as he tried not to think too hard about Hawkeye and sex at the same time. 

“Seventeen’s a virgin! Seventeen’s – ” the blond continued, still laughing at the other teenager before Phil decided enough was enough and tackled him, knocking the breath out of his lungs as his back hit the wooden floor of the old house with a loud thump. “Ow! Hey, that actually kind of hurt!”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Phil grumbled, but he lifted some of his weight off of the other boy, propping himself up with his knees bracketing Hawkeye’s hips and his hands on either side of Hawkeye’s head. 

“Well, I do have an asshole, and I would like to get fucked,” Hawkeye replied, a lopsided smirk plastered on his face as he peered up at Phil.

Phil Coulson’s mind momentarily short circuited. He blinked down at the other teenager dumbly, idly noticing the faint blush dusting Hawkeye's cheeks and the way his smirk became a little less cocky and a little more anxious the longer Phil remained silent. Phil opened his mouth to reply before closing it again when no sound came out. He suddenly became very aware of everywhere his body and Hawkeye’s were touching, and the position they were in. He also realized that somewhere in the back of his mind this was exactly where he wanted to be. 

“God, fuck, I didn’t mean – ” Hawkeye stuttered, backtracking as quickly as he could after Phil still hadn’t answered, Phil’s heart twisting in his chest as a flicker of disappointment flashed through Hawkeye’s expression. 

Phil leaned down, very carefully pressing their lips together in a feather light kiss, cutting off whatever Hawkeye had been trying to say. He then pulled back, his mouth dry as he looked down at the other teenager. 

“Well, I _did_ mean that. Is it going to be a problem?” he asked softly as Hawkeye glanced at his lips and then made eye contact, a sort of astounded, dazed quality to his gaze. 

“Fuck, no,” the blond murmured, placing a hand on the back of Phil’s neck and dragging him down for another, more in depth kiss. 

Phil felt freer than he had since before his mother had died all those years ago. 

\---

“Phil,” Ms. Potts' lyrical voice said, stalling Phil as he turned to walk out of the classroom. “Would you mind staying for a moment?”

“Uh, sure. I can stay,” Phil replied, his grip on his backpack tightening minutely as he wondered if they were going to revisit the dreaded conversation about his suspension that they’d had with Principal Johnson nearly a month prior. 

From her desk two rows away from Phil’s, Maria Hill glanced at him before shoving the rest of her books into her backpack and leaving without a word, or even another glance. Something in Phil’s chest squeezed uncomfortably as he tried to ignore her. He squared his shoulders and walked over to Ms. Potts’ desk as the last student left the room.

“I haven’t seen you around the neighborhood very much lately,” Ms. Potts started, her wording neutral, but her tone just a touch concerned. 

“Oh. Um, well, I guess I’ve been going out more. Hanging out with friends, you know,” Phil answered, fiddling with his backpack strap and trying not to think about making out with Hawkeye while he was trying to have a conversation with his economics teacher.

“I don’t see you talking to Maria very much anymore,” Ms. Potts countered, not directly calling Phil out on his evasion of her previous question, but clearly making a statement. 

“It’s not – she’s just been acting kind of weird lately,” Phil replied, shrugging. “Actually, I’ve been hanging out with a friend who goes to Lakeside, recently.” 

“Oh. You’ll have to introduce us sometime,” she said, smiling kindly. “Anyway, I was actually wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner tonight. Tony and Skye will be there, too.” 

Tony Stark was Ms. Potts’ long term boyfriend, and Skye was related to Tony in some way or another that Phil had never really bothered to remember or figure out. He was her legal guardian at any rate, even though Phil didn’t think that someone like Tony should have been allowed to have legal guardianship of a cactus, much less a twelve year old. Well, somehow she seemed to be doing okay under his parentage. 

“Sure,” Phil answered, smiling slightly. “That sounds… nice.” 

“I’ll see you at six, then?” Ms. Potts said, starting to pack up her own things. 

“Yeah. See you then.”

\---

“So I think I found your friend’s dog,” Hawkeye announced as soon as Phil walked through the front door of his house. 

They’d started meeting at Phil’s house instead of the abandoned one on 42nd street about a week ago. Hawkeye had initially protested, saying that he didn’t want to intrude, but Phil managed to convince him eventually through multiple assurances that he wasn’t a burden and the confession that sometimes he found it kind of lonely living all alone in a large four bedroom house. (He also may or may not have persuaded his boyfriend with the argument that sex on a bed was much more comfortable than sex on a wooden floor or in an old armchair.)

“Wait, what?” Phil said, shooting the blond haired boy a confused look. “What dog?”

“The missing one on the posters,” Hawkeye clarified, following Phil into the kitchen and perching on a barstool at the kitchen counter as Phil deposited his stuff in one corner and got himself a glass of water. “You know, the one that likes pizza. I couldn’t remember his name, but I called him Pizza Dog and he seemed to respond to it.” 

Phil let out a small huff of laughter, giving Hawkeye a soft smile as he hauled himself up onto a stool next to the blond. 

“Where did you see him?” he asked, taking a sip of water. 

“He was wandering around near the old house, but he’s, uh, kind of in your backyard right now,” Hawkeye answered, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “I didn’t bring him in the house, though. God knows how long he’s been living outside.” 

The blond wrinkled his nose adorably and Phil took the moment to plant a light kiss on his mouth. Hawkeye returned the kiss, but didn’t try to deepen it, just humming contentedly into Phil’s mouth before breaking the kiss. 

“Well, we should probably go find Kate then and see if the dog is hers,” Phil said, gulping down the rest of his water and stepping down from the barstool. 

“If he’s not, can we keep him?” Hawkeye asked, turning his best puppy dog eyes on Phil.

“He’s not staying in my house, if that’s what you’re asking,” Phil replied, raising one eyebrow at his boyfriend. 

“You’re no fun, Seventeen,” Hawkeye teased, the fond nickname making Phil feel a little fuzzy inside. 

Phil didn’t reply, but he took Hawkeye’s hand in his, threading their hands together and leading him out the door. He glanced over the fence surrounding his backyard to make sure the dog was still there before crossing the street and heading over to the large bungalow directly opposite of his own house and ringing the doorbell. Phil heard the loud thump of footsteps and a moment later the door was flung open, revealing Katherine Bishop in all of her fourteen year old, purple clad, sunglasses wearing glory. 

“Oh. Phil,” she said, blinking at him and craning her neck to look at the blond standing behind him. “What are yo – Hawkeye?”

“Uh, hey, Hawkeye,” Hawkeye – Phil’s Hawkeye, er, boyfriend Hawkeye – greeted, giving her a small wave. “What’s up?” 

“Wait, you two know each other?” Phil asked, glancing between them, surprise evident in his expression. 

“She’s one of my students,” the sandy haired teen answered. “You know, from my weekend archery classes.” 

“Oh.” 

“How do _you two_ know each other?” Kate questioned, examining the two boys with a contemplative look in her eyes. 

“We’re…” Hawkeye started, trailing off awkwardly and looking at Phil for help.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Phil said simply, although his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest he was sure both Kate and Hawkeye could hear it. 

“Oh,” was Kate’s only response, although she didn’t look terribly surprised. “So what are you guys doing here? Unless you’re, like, going around the neighborhood telling everyone you’re gay or something.” 

“What? No!” Phil exclaimed, turning slightly pink. “Hawkeye might have found your dog.”

“Lucky?” Kate asked, her whole face brightening. 

“He’s in Phil’s backyard,” Hawkeye chimed in, surprising Phil by using his actual name instead of just calling him ‘Seventeen’ as he usually did.

“Really?” she said, although it was clearly a rhetorical question.

Kate pushed past them and jogged across the street, stopping at the short fence surrounding Phil’s yard. She leaned over it and called out to the dog, which came bounding over to her, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as it jumped up to paw at her and leave slobbery dog kisses all over her face. 

“You smell _disgusting!_ ” she exclaimed, although she honestly didn’t sound that upset, and Phil was pretty sure she was trying to contain her laughter at the dog’s antics. 

Phil and Hawkeye just smiled at each other.

\---

Later that evening, Phil found himself eating pasta with pesto sauce over at Ms. Potts’ house with her boyfriend Tony and kind-of-adopted-daughter Skye as they exchanged mundane small talk and Phil proved that he wasn’t a completely antisocial hermit. 

“So Pep told me that your laptop was broken,” Tony said, breaking Phil from his thoughts and bringing him back into the dinner conversation. “I can fix it for you.” 

“You don’t have to – ” Phil started, only to be drowned out by the other man.

“You can bring it by later this week and I’ll have it done in no time,” Tony continued, ignoring Phil’s protests. “In fact, I should probably upgrade it while I’m at it – ”

“Tony,” Ms. Potts – or, rather, Pepper, as she was known to him in this environment – cautioned, placing a hand on her boyfriend’s arm. 

“Or I could just build you a completely new computer,” Tony said, missing the exasperated look that Phil and Skye shared across the table. “You know, there’s this – ”

“Skye, how was school today?” Pepper asked, smiling pleasantly and cutting off Tony’s one sided conversation. 

“I didn’t get sent to the principal’s office,” she said, trying to evade the question. 

“Well, I suppose that’s an improvement,” Pepper said after a moment, resignation clear in her tone. “Anything interesting happen?”

“I managed to stop myself from punching Grant in the face again,” Sky replied, raising one eyebrow at Pepper. “Although, for the record, he totally deserved it the first time.” 

Tony opened his mouth to add something, but closed it again when Pepper glared at him. Phil sighed internally. This was going to be a long night. 

\---

Phil had known, logically, that his lucky streak couldn’t last, and the day after that dinner at Ms. Potts’ house Cain Marko broke it with a fist to Phil’s face. Phil hadn’t been naïve enough to think that Marko would avoid him forever after their last confrontation, but the peace had certainly lasted far longer than he’d let himself hope it would. When Marko finally did snap, Phil suspected that it had less to do with anything he’d done and more to do with the ugly, hand shaped bruise on Marko's neck, hidden just under his shirt collar. 

Of course, that didn’t mean Phil was just going to fucking take it. It didn’t help that Marko had brought along a couple of friends, though. 

“You finished already, you little bitch?” Marko barked, smirking at Phil in a way that was the complete opposite of the playful smirks that Hawkeye sometime wore. “I’m not even going to bruise!”

Phil let out an animalistic growl and pushed himself up off the hard asphalt of the school parking lot, staggering slightly as he tried to stand. He looked over at Marko, anger clenching in his gut, and glanced at his two other attackers, both standing slightly behind Marko. Phil tried to figure out how to take them all out by himself, but so far was coming up with no solutions that didn’t involve a dose of Captain America’s Super Soldier Serum. 

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could actually say anything, Marko barreled into him, tackling him to the ground. Phil felt an unpleasant sense of déjà vu as he stared up at Marko as the other teenager prepared to punch him in the face. Marko’s weight once more constricted his breathing, practically crushing his chest. Phil grimaced, closed his eyes, and prepared for the worst. 

Once again, the worst never came. Marko’s weight was abruptly hauled from atop him and Phil gasped for breath, opening his eyes and half expecting to find Dr. Banner looming over him again. 

Instead, Phil laid eyes on an even stranger scene. Maria Hill was beating Cain Marko to a pulp. There was really no other way to describe it, and Phil stared on in shock as Maria kicked him over and over, forcing Marko to curl himself into a fetal position in a desperate attempt to save himself from her wrath. One of Marko’s friends ran over and grabbed onto one of Maria’s arms, trying to stop her, but only received an elbow to the stomach for his trouble, causing him to double over and fall to his knees as she continued her vicious assault on Marko. Phil heard Marko let out a loud howl of pain and Phil began to wonder if Maria was seriously trying to kill him. 

“Maria!” he yelled, staggering to his feet, his eyes wide with shock as he truly started to worry for Marko’s safety (something he never thought he’d ever worry about). “Maria, you – ”

Just as abruptly as she’d started, Maria stopped her onslaught. She turned to face Phil and he was surprised to find her eyes watery, almost as if she was going to start crying. The words dried up in Phil’s mouth and he found himself at a loss for what to say.

“How long?” Maria asked curtly. 

“How long?” Phil parroted, confused and nervous. 

“How long has Marko been,” Maria paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “beating you up?” 

“A little over a year now,” Phil answered, an embarrassed blush staining his cheeks. 

Maria closed her eyes and stumbled back against the brick wall of the school behind her, going boneless and sliding down it until she was sitting on the dark asphalt of the parking lot ground. The silence between them stretched, neither uttering a word. 

“I thought it was about Jasper, at first,” Maria said suddenly, opening her eyes and looking at Phil. “I thought you were just upset that he moved out west. Then I thought it was about your dad leaving you to go to New York. I had no idea about all of,” she shrugged, waving a hand at Marko who was struggling to sit up, “this.” 

“It was those things, too,” Phil answered simply, moving to sit next to Maria. 

“You should have told me,” Maria murmured after a pause. 

Phil said nothing and the silence fell between then again.

“Are you my friend?” he asked abruptly, not daring to look Maria in the eye.

“What sort of question is that?” she asked, frowning, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Just. I need to know,” Phil admitted, still not looking at her. 

“Of course I’m your friend,” Maria replied. 

“Thank god,” Phil whispered, staring up at the cloudless sky. 

\---

Phil got home late that night. He and Maria had ended up in a small coffee shop – Maria’s favorite and one, he realized with a pang of guilt, he’d never been to before. They’d talked for hours, and even then they’d only just started what was sure to be a long path to fully rebuilding their friendship. Pieces of it were still there, but there was a lot to repair, and Phil promised both her and himself that he’d put in the required effort this time. He was feeling remarkably better by the time they parted ways, going back to their respective homes. 

However, as soon as he arrived back at his house, every scrap of good feeling left in his body evaporated. 

Hawkeye was slumped just inside the hallway against the wall. Phil’s eyes were immediately drawn to the slash of bright red that ran down his wall from where the blond’s side had brushed against it. Standing out against his bright white t-shirt was a horrifying gash, blood practically pouring out of it, and for a moment Phil wondered what nightmare he’d woken up in. 

“Hawkeye!” he cried out, falling to his knees next to his boyfriend’s prone body and cupping the blond haired teen’s cheek in his hand, shifting his head so that he was looking at Phil. “Hawkeye, can you hear me? Oh, god, please – ”

“Seventeen?” Hawkeye asked blearily, blinking and trying to focus his eyes on Phil, moving his head slightly. 

“We need to call 911,” Phil exclaimed, fumbling with his cell phone, however before he could dial, Hawkeye’s hand weakly closed around his wrist.

“No,” the other boy croaked, staring at Phil imploringly. “No hospital. Don’t take me to the hospital.”

“You’re going to die if I don’t – ” Phil started, only to be cut off by Hawkeye again. 

“No,” Hawkeye repeated, and he almost looked like he was going to start crying. “You can’t – ”

Hawkeye cut himself off, falling sideways from his sitting position. Phil managed to catch him before his side hit the floor, but the blond let out a loud cry of pain as Phil touched his side. 

“Okay. Okay, I won’t – ” Phil said, swallowing thickly. “Just – let me – ”

With painstaking care, Phil gently slid one arm under his boyfriend’s shoulders and the other under the sandy haired teen’s knees, clutching him tightly to his chest and slowly lifting him up off of the ground in a bridal carry. Hawkeye let out another whimper and Phil prayed to any deity who would listen that the wonderful, fantastic person in his arms wouldn’t die. Not here, not now. The front door was still ajar as Phil had left it and he pushed through it, squinting as he made his way through the darkness, going as quickly as he dared with Hawkeye in his arms. 

The time it took to walk down the block to Ms. Potts’ house felt like an eternity. Phil almost tripped as he ascended the stairs to her porch and for a moment all he could think was, “This is it. I’m going to murder Hawkeye.” However, he managed to regain his balance and continued to the door, where he banged on it with his shoulder in lieu of a knock. 

“Phil? What on Earth – oh my god!” Ms. Potts gasped upon seeing Phil on her doorstep. 

“Pepper, what’s wrong?” another voice asked, and Phil’s heart sank in his chest as he realized that Tony was there, too. 

“What’s going on?” a third person questioned – fuck, even Skye was there.

“Tony, call 911. Skye, I want you to get the first aid kit from the bathroom,” Pepper ordered, opening the door wider so Phil could bring Hawkeye inside. “Set him down on the couch in the living room.” 

“You promised – ” Hawkeye started, only to cut himself off with a gasp of pain as Phil laid him down on the couch as gently as possible, trying to ignore how nearly the entirety of the front of his shirt was stained red with his boyfriend’s blood.

“Shhhh,” Phil said, kissing Hawkeye’s forehead lightly and pressing his hands over the other boy’s wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. 

Hawkeye fell silent, and Phil desperately hoped that the ambulance would arrive before it was too late. 

\---

“I’m Officer MacTaggert. Are any of you actually related to Clinton Francis Barton?” the police officer asked, not unkindly, as she interviewed Phil along with Pepper, Tony, and Skye in the hospital waiting room.

It struck Phil that this was the first time he’d ever heard Hawkeye’s real name. 

“No,” Pepper said softly, answering for all of them when Phil couldn’t find the strength to do so. 

“Fuck,” the officer sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I was really hoping you were, because the only other Bartons on city record were brought into the morgue a couple of hours ago.” 

“What?” Phil exclaimed, the word leaving his mouth before his mind had processed it.

“Are you his friend?” the policewoman questioned, studying Phil carefully, but not commenting on his outburst. 

“I – he’s my boyfriend,” Phil replied, deciding to answer truthfully. 

“I’m so sorry, kid,” she said, actually sounding sincere. “According to our records, it looks like they were his parents and older brother. So far it’s being ruled as a drunk driving accident, but there was a… a knife found in the wreckage.”

Phil’s insides turned to ice as he remembered the shape of the gash in Hawkeye’s side. 

“Ha-Clint, he’d have strange bruises sometimes,” Phil admitted after a moment. “He never talked about them and would get mad at me if I tried to force the subject. I finally stopped asking about them.”

He felt like the worst sort of bastard in existence for not having done something sooner. 

“Jesus,” MacTaggert breathed, running a hand through her hair again. “Well, out of the pan and into the fire. The kid’s probably going to have to go into the system now.” 

“Let’s adopt him,” Tony blurted out suddenly, startling everyone. 

“Tony, we can’t just adopt a kid,” Pepper exclaimed, looking at him with wide eyes. “There are rules – ”

“Hey, Skye, you’d like a brother, right?” Tony asked, turning to his sort of daughter and ignoring Pepper. 

“Sure,” she replied simply, glancing over at Phil and then back to Tony. 

“See?” Tony said, turning back to Pepper, who merely sighed. 

“Tony, we don’t know a thing about this kid,” Pepper protested, brushing a fallen strand of hair out of her face. “We’re not even married. We can't adopt a kid together.” 

“Well, for part A, we know that Phil’s dating him and therefore he’s probably at least halfway decent,” Tony countered, taking Pepper’s hands in his and looking her directly in the eyes. “As for part B, if we’re not married, then maybe we should be.” 

“Did you just propose to me without a ring in a hospital waiting room in front of a police officer while we’re discussing adopting my neighbor’s boyfriend who was just stabbed?” Pepper asked, her voice watery, sounding stunned, incredulous, and a whole slew of other, indecipherable emotions. 

“I’ll do it properly tomorrow, if you want,” was Tony's only response. 

Pepper collapsed against his chest and Tony carefully wrapped his arms around her and held her like that for a while as she recomposed herself. After a minute or so, she straightened up again and turned to Phil, taking in a deep breath. 

“Let’s see what we can do,” she said, forcing a small smile.

For the first time since seeing Hawkeye – _Clint_ – collapsed in his hallway, bleeding out on the floor, Phil felt a faint flicker of hope.

\---

_Epilogue_

“Dad, I’m going over to Clint’s!” Phil called, tugging his boots on as quickly as possible as he sat in the middle of the front hallway.

“Just remember to be back by eleven,” Mr. Coulson replied, poking his head around the corner into the hallway, his thick framed glasses sliding down his nose slightly, indicating that he’d been working on his laptop. “And say hello to Virginia for me.” 

“I will,” Phil answered, shooting his father a tentative, half smile as he darted out the door, eager to see his boyfriend again. 

He jogged the short distance to Hawkeye’s new residence, transcending the stairs in a single leap before stopping at the door and knocking politely, practically trembling with nervous energy. A moment later, the door opened, revealing Mrs. Pepper Potts-Stark. (Well, almost. The actual wedding wasn't for a few more months.) 

“Phil,” she said in greeting, looking a little tired, but still smiling. “I take it you’re here to see Clint?”

“Yes, please,” Phil replied politely, entering the house as she moved aside to let him in. “Also, my dad says hi.”

“Tell him that he should actually come over sometime, or I might think you’re lying about him having come back from New York early,” Pepper answered, although her tone was good natured. “Clint’s up in his room.”

Phil nodded before descending the stairs, taking them two at a time in his rush to get to his boyfriend. He paused in front of Clint’s door, though, bracing himself before going inside. 

“Hey,” he said softly as he entered the room, taking in the entirety of it before letting his eyes rest on the sandy haired boy propped up in the bed, still a little pale, but clearly on the road to recovery.

“Hey,” Hawkeye echoed, smiling at him. 

“How are you doing?” Phil asked, sitting down in the chair already conveniently positioned at his bedside. 

“I feel like I could run a mile in five minutes flat,” Hawkeye replied jokingly, his smile turning into a lopsided grin. “Of course, the doctors and Pepper won’t let me. I’m stuck in this stupid bed for another four days.” 

“For a good reason,” Phil countered, giving his boyfriend an unimpressed look. 

“Aw, come on, not you too,” the blond pouted, giving Phil his best kicked puppy look. 

Phil let himself give into temptation and leaned in to capture Clint’s lips in a kiss. Hawkeye opened his mouth willingly, deepening the kiss and moaning into Phil’s mouth. Phil found an archery callused hand on his neck, Clint’s fingers threading through his short hair and pulling him in further. Phil felt himself heat up, could feel his blood already starting to rush southward. Reluctantly he pulled back from the kiss, feeling a pang of regret at his boyfriend’s disappointed whimper. 

“You’re not supposed to do anything strenuous,” Phil panted, trying to ignore how gorgeous the blond looked lying there in the bed. 

“You’re no fun,” Clint complained, but there was no heat behind it. 

“I’ll make up for it later,” Phil promised, smiling down at the other teenager. 

“You better,” Hawkeye grumbled. 

“Hey, so I got something for you,” Phil said, changing the subject and unzipping his backpack, pulling a large book out of it and handing it to Clint, who read the title and let out a rather undignified snort.

“Where’s Waldo? Really, Seventeen?” he replied, grinning at Phil, humor dancing in his eyes.

“It’ll keep you occupied while you’re confined to bed, _Hawkeye,_ ” Phil shot back, returning his boyfriend’s grin. 

“Thanks,” Clint said gently, taking Phil’s hand and threading their fingers together. “Now, where did we leave off?”

“I spy something white.”


End file.
